


Satisfaction

by Tutuisi



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: AT ALL TIMES, Belly Kink, Chubby Barba, Chubby Kink, Enthusiastic Consent, Falling In Love, Feeding Kink, Feedism, Flirting, M/M, Masturbation, Stuffing, Teasing, Tight Clothing, Weight Gain, snacking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-01-24 14:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18573337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tutuisi/pseuds/Tutuisi
Summary: Carisi has a kink. Luckily, so does Barba.





	1. Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever let another human read so please, be honest but be gentle or I'll be too scared to post the kinkier chapters I've half-written.

Working with the law means snacking on the go. You never know when the next call will come in so, even if you do have time to grab a break and an actual meal, you make sure everything is fast and/or portable so you can run at a moments notice. It’s not very practical, so the squad tends to make up for it with vending machines and strategically placed caches.

 

Over-eager-people-pleaser Dominick ‘Call Me Sonny’ Carisi is Italian and Italians look after their family, or at least that's how Sonny justifies it. Co-workers can be like family, or so he hears, and people need to eat. Preparing to bound in that first day as the stereotypical 80s cop, aggressive moustache and all, Sonny had been conflicted: Bring something in to ingratiate himself with the squad and risk them knowing he cared about how they saw him? Walk in empty-handed, miss making a good first impression and end up with yet another transfer? Over the past year or two, after his outing and subsequent move, Detective Carisi had built up an armour of intense masculinity around himself. Sure, some people made jokes about his “Porn ‘Stache”, but that was a strategic choice he made, not something he _was_. If he was being honest he hated the moustache: its only purpose was to be a designated target. So. Harden the accent, show no empathy, dress like a douche bag and over all cultivate the least-Queer persona he possibly could, that was the survival plan. Sadly (happily?), it wasn’t an act that fit in with the typical Special Victims crowd. Maybe it was time for a change, it wasn’t like he’d be running into his old Homicide squad anytime soon, and surely SVU cops of all people would be more accepting? The police force was still an Old Boy’s Club but if anyone was evolving it was them. Gathering intel about his co-workers dug up some very interesting rumours concerning his new Lieutenant and a certain redhead ADA, too. He… probably shouldn’t dig any further if he wants the Lieu to like him. Still, it’s a good sign. He certainly didn't think he'd get another rant about how baking was for women and 'nancy boys'. 

 

Carisi took them zeppole. To be more specific, Carisi stress-baked and had no choice but to take in some of his zeppole if he ever wanted to enter his kitchen again; that morning he almost had to set the coffee maker up in the bedroom for lack of counter space. He would act like they were store bought unless directly asked, treat it as if it was no different than the stereotypical box of doughnuts. No biggie. They were having a sale, he knows how hard it is to squeeze in an actual meal, okay fine they're home made but its super quick and easy he was gonna make ‘em anyway he swears. 

 

~~~

 

 

 

'These aren’t from anywhere nearby, are they?'

 

The ADA was the first and only one to ask, mouth half full and chewing delightfully. It was less embarrassing than if he was forced to tell someone at the precinct, probably, but something about that man’s stare made him squirm. It didn’t help that he could barely tear his eyes away as he made his way through the treat he had taken. Some people are just so handsome when they chew... Turning away to straighten some papers, Carisi released a resigned sigh and an admission, 'No, Councillor, they are not.'

 

'Where _are_ they from, Detective?' ADA Barba’s face was questioning, but not quite accusatory. Like he had an inkling, but he probably wouldn’t use it against him. A relief, but he still braced himself: the SVU's go-to ADA didn't seem like the hate crime type, but it was best to be prepared. Somehow, he thought it'd be worse if the man just straight up hated his Nonna's recipe. That counted as a hate crime in itself, at least in a family like his.

 

'Well that’s, it’s...' Barba’s eyebrows climbed a fraction higher, as if to encourage the confession, so Carisi turned his face away completely. 'I made them, okay? I— They aren’t any trouble and I was gonna make some either way so I thought hey, the police force can always use some snacks! It’s not a big deal or nothin’.' He, a seasoned detective in his mid thirties, felt his face heat with a blush. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and hoped to God that's not how it looked.

 

Barba stood for a second as if considering something, shook his head and took another handful, 'The moustache makes you look more like a perp than a cop. Do you ever make the filled ones?'

 

Carisi nodded, knowing he’d likely stumble over his words like a kid with a crush if he tried talking. This man, this brilliant man who certainly could afford to buy better, liked his baking? He didn’t like his moustache but, to be fair, did anyone? ADA Barba nodded back and turned to leave

 

'It’s nearly March 19th, I was planning on making a batch of Zeppole di San Giuseppe?'

 

'I’ll try to stop by, be sure to save me some.'

 

The moustache was gone by the end of the night.

 

 

 

~~~

 

 

 

The first treats seemed to go down well with the squad, though he was still getting the feeling that they didn’t like him at all. Maybe he had been a little abrasive, but he was eager to learn if they would just tell him what he was doing wrong. No wonder he was in the kitchen so much.

  


Baking really did help ease his stress; he appreciated having clear instructions he could turn his brain off and still follow after a long day of often life-or-death decisions. It was definitely getting out of hand, though. Three batches was… yeah, definitely too much for the squad. Two was enough for his entire immediate family and they were people who _adored_ these things. There was no guarantee they would even like them, nevermind each eat a third of a huge box in one go. Still, it was too late now. He sighed at his own overzealousness, glad at least that he wasn't fighting any  _untoward_ feelings in regards to baking for the squad ( _Barba is an outlier it was just one time don't think about him don't think about how thick his thighs look in those pants ignore him stop thinking about him and how good he'd look with a little more meat on his bones FOCUS Sonny)_ and finished piping the cream into the pastries before topping them with cherries. He thought it was funny that he had no Catholic Guilt when it came to his bisexuality, he only hid it for safety reasons, but cooking for someone held endless potential for fire and brimstone if he wasn't careful.

 

_Cooking for people is a normal thing to do, Sonny, you don't need to worry so much._

 

~~~

 

Carisi should have worried. Barba ate almost two thirds of a box in the hour he was at the precinct and Carisi, unable to tear his gaze away, wondered when his first complaint from HR would arrive. When he swooped by Barba’s perch and offered him the box he assumed one would be chosen and then he’d be dismissed, same as everyone else in the squad had done. Instead, he found himself pinned to the spot as Barba slowly took it from his hands, carefully selected what would be his _first_ pastry and started a fucking conversation. If the guy was queer he might think something was going on, on anyone else the tiny smile might have been an invitation, but as it stood he had to assume this was just the ADAs way of deciding if a detective was worth working with and his own brain's way of killing him slowly. God knows SVU got enough difficult cases, half the time he thought Barba only took them because of a bribe, or maybe blackmail at the hands of Lieutenant Benson. He needed Detectives he could trust.

 

 

'I have to admit, I’m surprised you can talk about this stuff and eat at the same time, Councillor.'

 

Barba narrowed his eyes and took another purposeful, defiant bite, ' _You_ brought food into the _SVU squad room_ , Detective. We’re being overseen by the photos three underaged victims of rape and a composite of their attacker. If I wasn’t meant to eat here why would you bring food?'

 

'I guess I just assumed cops have stronger stomachs, is all. You know, Dr Warner told me once that her med school weeded out squeamish folk by making the students eat their lunch sitting next to a dead body and—'

 

'Carisi, focus. What was Detective Tutuola saying about fingerprints when I walked in earlier?'

 

'Oh right, yeah, so prints were found at the last three scenes but we’ve been having trouble matching ‘em because they’re always distorted, right? Well Dr Warner was re-examining forensics from the scene and get this: we think the guy sliced up his own fingertips, probably thinks no full prints means no evidence.' The ADA swallowed another large bite before responding.

 

'So I assume you’re interviewing everyone again? Why am I here? You don’t exactly need a warrant to look at a suspect,” he picked up a fifth pastry and brought it to his lips before adding, softer, “though i’m glad I didn’t miss out on these.'

 

Carisi grinned. 'Nah, the dumbass was still bleeding when he left the prints, we’ll have the answer by the end of the day. I just didn’t want to take a cab over to Hogan Place.' Barba shot him a questioning look and Carisi shrugged back. 'You’re the only one who actually appreciates my baking and you did make me promise you’d get some. Besides, if you can wait another ten minutes for the Lieutenant to get back you actually will be needed. It was mostly the zeppole though.'

 

Barba looked _scandalised,_ but merely huffed, picked up his half-eaten box and sat down to wait in Lieutenant Benson’s office. Unfortunately for Carisi’s workload, he was right in his eyeline. Unfortunately for his sense of professional dignity, they kept making eye contact. Barba didn’t stop eating until the box was empty, at which point he neatly folded up the cardboard box and slipped it in the Lieu’s trash, and when he left an hour later he took the second half of another box with him. A challenging glance was thrown his way and he wondered if Barba had noticed that it wasn't just his face Carisi had been checking out.

 

 

~~~

 

 

Carisi took to leaving a bag of chocolate coated pretzels open on his desk after that, whether he had baked or not; He would never admit it but on some level it was absolutely bait. It worked. Barba grabbed a handful almost every time he walked past and more than once had to (did he really have to?) subtly lick the melted chocolate off his hand once he was done. Usually while he was standing near Carisi, never failing to raise the detectives heart rate (or his blush). It was pure torture and he would feel guilty if it wasn't for the fact that he had only ever offered the bag once, every other snack being initiated by the ADA himself. Trying to hide the occasional semi from a man as perceptive as he was was punishment enough. It certainly wasn't something he was about to confess to his priest.

 

 

Barba would be the death of him, he had no doubts about that.


	2. Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barba donates his body to science.

Barba didn’t miss the way Detective Carisi had been staring. He had stared since day one, but never so intently, never so fixated. Curiously, if Barba wasn’t holding his gaze Carisi’s tended to wander south, but definitely not crotch or even ass level. He had to wonder…

 

Detective Carisi was for sure the typical Italian-American, family-oriented and always looking after his own. He cooked a lot for the squad when he knew things were getting busy and he regularly brought dinner to Barba’s office once he realised dinner usually consisted of coffee and scotch when they were working difficult cases. He refused to dwell on the implication that _Carisi treated him as one of his own_. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but when Carisi’s eyes fell to his midriff he didn’t seem disgusted or disapproving of Barba’s slight weight gain at all. That is, if 10lbs counted as slight. Barba fought off the urge to squirm in his seat at the thought of someone like Carisi being as approving of Barba’s chub as he himself was. It was all his baking’s fault anyway.

 

 

It was a ‘secret’ few really knew about; Partners were rarely understanding, always ‘subtly’ suggesting gym memberships and diets, so he no longer made an effort to explain. They could get used to it or they could leave. He would be lying if he said those comments didn’t just encourage him, but humiliation can’t be part of a healthy relationship if both parties aren’t on the same page. Rita, no surprises, worked it out when her teasing in college left him in an _unfortunate_ situation and she hadn’t let up since: He could always count on her to throw a few jabs in when she needed something, or make a casual comment when they were just chatting in his office. Sometimes it was the only highlight of a long, gruelling day. Barba always suspected she was a bit of a chubby chaser but, somehow, it never came up. That she brought a snack or three every time she visited was never addressed, worried as he was that she would stop.

 

_~~~_

 

 

His shirts were getting tight again. He, of course, owned many shirts in many sizes to accommodate his inevitable yo-yoing, but if he didn’t have court he liked to wear the smaller ones right up until he couldn’t; Ties and vests could hide a multitude of sins, gluttony most of all. Today, the waistcoat usually paired with his grey plaid suit barely buttoned even before lunch. His fingers traced over the fabric wrinkles created at his sides where his belly pushed dangerously against the line of buttons. Just underneath was the soft dip of his waist, which was possibly his favourite part of all. Possibly because of it's status as main erogenous zone (hardly his fault, he couldn’t exactly rewire his nervous system), possibly just because he liked the way it looked. Between his wide shoulders and chunky hips it had an almost feminising effect, a curve that softened his harsh edges and the perfect place for someone to rest their hands. God, how he wished a certain someone would rest his hands there... Basking in the odd, proud glow a thought occurred to him: this could be the perfect excuse to tease out a reaction from Carisi, expose his inclinations and proclivities and maybe provoke him enough that moves could be made. Either he would notice and like it, notice and not care or not even notice at all. What did he have to lose? The jacket, come to think of it: no variables could risk spoiling the view, this was a science after all.

 

Barba hopped up onto the table next to Carisi and bit into his sub as they all half-listened to Rollins rant about a confession she already knew was inadmissible, fully aware his belly was eye-height from Carisi’s point of view. There was a lot to be viewing: If his shirt was tight this morning it was really straining now; he could hear the buttons protesting every time he moved. Surely Carisi could hear it too? He made an effort to enjoy his sandwich, but in his haste to fill himself he barely tasted it. He thought the cookie that came with it was white chocolate and macadamia nut but it too went down so fast he could hardly remember chewing. The final step was chugging what was left of his coffee. It was a challenge, he was clumsy-full and it was a venti, but he wasn’t exactly new to the sensation. When he was done he attempted to regulate the almost-panting breaths his stuffed stomach was encouraging before realising that, if he was right, Carisi would probably like that too. He felt _amazing,_ so he was ready to go.

 

Barba shuffled in place until he could see him in his periphery, assuming the motion would draw his attention, and slowly pulled his arms back in a stretch. Buttons gaped wildly, if he wore this shirt again in a fortnight they’d probably pop off, and he let out a soft, calculated groan. Carisi’s mouth slackened and Barba was close enough that he could see his usual ice-blue eyes blown completely dark. He dared a quick rub of the heel of his palm against the fullest part of his belly and was answered with a shaky gasp.

 

Gotcha.

 

 

~~~

 

For the next couple of weeks Barba was intent on torturing Carisi. On days his little shadow was following him, he chose his outfits with even more care than usual. Trial and error taught him that his suspenders were generally more appreciated than a belt, probably something in the way they framed his curves and pulled his shirt just a little tighter, but on days when seeing Carisi wasn’t planned he often tightened his belt by a notch to accentuate the way the softest part of his belly dipped over his waistband when he sat. And, recently, when he was standing too, come to think of it.

 

At least once, on a day when he had nothing scheduled in the afternoon besides a paperwork session with a curiously-willing Carisi, he ate an early lunch so the effects of whatever sizeable meal Carisi brought would be even more apparent. Nothing got past the detective, (besides, frustratingly, the crush Barba was harbouring), so he was certain Carisi could tell what he was doing, whether he understood his motivations or not.

 

~~~

 

A loud knock jolted Barba from the edge of sleep.

‘Yes?’

Instead of a reply, Detective Carisi rounded the door. Barba suppressed a smile at the sight that greeted him.

‘You know, I’d still have let you into my office even if you weren’t buried in three tonnes of takeout food. You’re doing me a favour, helping comb through all these old files. Tell anyone I said that and i’ll have Liv arrest you for blackmail.’

 

‘Councillor, it’s quarter to ten at night. When did you last eat...,’ Carisi’s eyes slid to the desk-side trash can, filled as usual with cereal bar wrappers, and then the orphaned teaspoon on his desk, ‘a decent meal?’ Barba watched a flush creep up Carisi’s neck. He was wearing a much nicer suit that the David Byrne monstrosity he started off with, but Barba thought his own silky pink tie would suit him more right now than the black and grey fabric hanging loose from his neck.

 

‘How much of a jar of Nutella would you say crosses the line into indecency, Detective?’ Carisi genuinely considered the answer, which was not the point, so Barba added, ‘If you have to think about it I clearly blew way past it hours ago. Never mind, what did you bring with you? It’s been long enough.’

 

‘I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I got eggplant lasagne,’ he began, setting down each box in turn, ‘spaghetti and meatballs, and some carbonara. The aglio e olio is mine, and we can split and take home whatever you don’t want.’

 

Barba grabbed the proffered fork and opened the closest container. Carbonara. He opened his mouth but, before he could ask, Carisi was already handing him a small tub of parmesan. That was odd, kind of sweet. He was way too tired to spend any real energy on it, so instead he shoved a stack of folders and loose sheets of paper vaguely into the detective’s personal space and resumed his reading, shovelling his pasta down mindlessly. The texture and heaviness was exactly what he had needed, he could feel the tension in his shoulders easing as soon as he started. When he was scraping the bottom of the carton he grabbed the next nearest and started over, flicking open the fastening of his trousers with practised ease in an effort to relieve some pressure. He was glad it was the lasagne; the tomato and vegetables would help cut the through the creaminess of his first meal. He sipped the warm coffee Carisi had apparently set in front of him at some point.

 

_Oh, right, Carisi’s_ _still_ _here._ _Do we care if he notices?_

 

Barba finally looked up just as he was finishing his last few bites. There was Carisi, working away like a good catholic schoolboy. Giving up his entire evening for a decade-old rape case. Sacrificing his entire evening to sit in a dimly-lit office with Rafael Barba, of all people, and pore over more of the same shit he already fills his days with. And then he even bought them _dinner_ to share, because that's the kind of man he was _._

 

_Yes, we want him to notice. Anything to keep him longer._

 

Barba noticed, belatedly, that Carisi’s lips were moving.

 

_He’s probably talking,_ his groggy brain supplied. _We_ _should probably listen_.

 

‘...but because of the original, unrevised dress code, they argued it doesn’t apply. Have you read this thing? “If a female student’s collarbone is visible above the neckline detention can be given at any teacher’s discretion—“ are they serious? Can young girls detach their collarbones at will like legos or are they all meant to show up in turtlenecks? Or maybe a nuns habit? If you don’t teach young boys—‘

‘ _Dios mio_ , thank you, Vice Principle Carisi, but you’re more valuable as _just_ a cop and a lawy—,’ he heard Carisi draw a breath to argue, ‘ yeah, right, nearly a lawyer. Bar exam, whatever, we all know how you’ll do, don’t start.’

 

Carisi finally looked up, eyebrows furrowed, but whatever he was about to say died on his lips as he took in the empty cartons and Barba’s open fly. Instead, what he said after a beat, voice low and husky, was: ‘Wanna split the spaghetti?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David Byrne Suit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9r7X3f2gFz4
> 
> Yes, yes, i'm hilarious as long as you get these 17 very specific references and have had a recent concussion.
> 
>  
> 
> Barba and his brain don't always get along, so he likes to think of them as two separate individuals who just work in the same tiny office, hence the /we/.
> 
> I have a Tumblr by the same name, if anyone wants to say hi.


	3. Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rita is intimidating, but she may have a point. Sonny tests the waters.

‘...need another new waistcoat, the buttons are fighting for their lives, _Gordito_. What has he been feeding you?’

‘He, Rita?’

‘Don’t play coy, Rafael, I've seen the way you look at each other and I can see the effects of his... attentions even clearer. You’re hitting your usual limit but it doesn't exactly look like you’re slowing down.’

‘Oh yeah? Then what does it look like?’

‘It looks like your biggest waistcoat barely buttons, your trash is filled with candy wrappers and you’re blushing head to toe. Look at you, practically preening because someone took notice!’

 

 

When Carisi walked into Barba's office, arms laden with paperwork and Chinese food, he was surprised to see that Rita Calhoun was sitting on the edge of Barba’s desk. Neither seemed surprised to see him. ‘Oh sorry, Councillor, I didn’t realise you had company. I can come back.’

 

 

Before he could even turn to leave Rita grabbed his arm and guided him towards the desk, or rather the ADA perched on the edge of it. She took a couple of steps away from Carisi, towards Barba, and lightly dragged a finger up parallel to the buttons of his snug vest. He thought both of them might have glanced over in his direction, but he was preoccupied with suppressing his reaction, schooling his features. It was more difficult than anything he had faked whilst undercover, but he thought he was doing well. He would for sure save the image for a guilty session in the shower later, but for now he needed to keep his head. Getting off on someone else’s embarrassment, especially what that someone is (tentatively) considered a friend, was creepy as fuck and Carisi was an adult, an SVU detective even. Unfortunately, Rita wasn’t finished.

 

 

 

‘Is this your doing, Carisi? No doubt you’re bringing lunch over most days now, the evidence is... unavoidable.’ Rita sank a finger into Barba's stomach with a smirk. Carisi tensed, waiting for Barba's inevitable scathing comeback, but instead watched in confusion as a matching smile spread across his face. He may even have pushed out his belly a little more, though maybe that was just a deep breath and a little wishful thinking. Carisi needed to take a few deep breaths himself: he had a feeling he was turning as pink as Barba's shirt.

 

‘Have you noticed, Detective, that this is a new waistcoat? No doubt he needed something to cover the straining buttons...’ Barba's eyes left Rita's to meet Carisi's, swept up and down his frame and returned to their place. Just as Carisi inhaled with the intention of coming up with something, anything, to say, Carmen knocked and stuck her head around the door.

 

‘Mr Barba? Buchanan wants a quick word. I thought it’d be easier for you to take it out here since you have company.’

 

 

‘Okay, you two,' he said, eyeing his guests, 'Behave yourselves while I'm gone.’

 

Carisi couldn’t help staring at his ass as he sauntered away and he knew Calhoun would notice. The strange group-tension had cracked, but this had potential to be more awkward. When the door clicked behind him Rita rounded on him, ‘Hmm, you’re looking a little hot under the collar Detective. Are you feeling well?’ Carisi went to stutter a reply but she continued, ‘I may not be a detective but I think anyone could feel the heat of your gaze a mile away.’

 

 

‘Ms Calhoun, I don’t know what you’re talking about. That— That was just rude. I know you’re, uh, _friends_ , but i’m sure he didn’t appreciate that, especially in front of me. You aren’t the only one to pick up on my feelings and I don’t wanna make him any more uncomfortable, you know?’

 

 

‘I’m sure you must have noticed he wasn’t exactly protesting, Detective Carisi.’

 

‘I…’ He sighed, resigned to his fate, ‘Look, what do you want?’ Rita held up her hands in a gesture of submission. It looked wrong on her, like she wasn’t used to the feeling..

 

‘All I'm saying is he's clearly not too hung up about it. Hey, maybe you should have a go, see what happens. Have some fun. How your squad can stand being around you and your pining is beyond me, at least if you somehow manage to offend him it’ll stop.’

 

‘I don’t make a habit of pursuing straight men, Ms Calhoun. You’re a total sadist, I was already aware, but I don’t appreciate you trying to humiliate either of us in front of _unavoidable colleagues_.’ Rita raised an eyebrow, gave him a pointed look, and couldn’t suppress a snort.

 

‘I heard you were a decent detective, apparently Rafael was wrong. What has he ever done to suggest he isnt queer as you are? I don’t mean to enforce stereotypes but have you seen how he dresses? How many straight men do you know who flounce around the courtroom so cockily? He isn’t exactly hiding it, he’s so flamboyant peacocks whisper behind his back.’

 

‘...peacocks are usually displaying their tail feathers for females, sounds pretty straight to me.’

 

‘How the hell did you manage to become a detective? I know for a fact that you have met several of his dates over the past couple of years and most of them were men. I should know, I usually set them up,’ her voice lowered to a whisper, ‘Between his workload and pining over you he doesn’t find much time to meet people.’

 

Before Carisi could work out a response Barba was back, holding open the door impatiently.

 

’Okay, Rita, you need to leave. Carisi and I have a case to discuss,’ he sighed, ‘and you really cannot be here for it.’

 

‘Sure, a case, let’s go with that,’ she hummed, clearly unconvinced. She made towards the exit, stopping only to whisper something into Barba’s ear. Carisi couldn’t make out the words, but if Barba’s eyebrows and gaping mouth were anything to go by it was offensive at worst or, at best, deeply amusing. With one last firm pat to the side of his belly she was gone. After a beat or two Barba blinked and seemed to shrug the whole thing off.

 

‘Well then, Carisi, what’d you bring for lunch?’

 

 

~~~

 

 

Carisi wanted to make Barba happy and this could potentially be the way to do just that, if he was right. If _Rita_ was right.

 

Over the next couple of weeks Carisi committed himself to studying Barba like he was the bar, particularly when Rita Calhoun was in the room. Almost every interaction started off the same: She would sidle up, slip something into Barba’s hand and get a smirk and/or eyeroll in return. Maybe half the time she’d stay for a chat, but the delivery seemed to be the important part. There was too much touching for Carisi’s liking but the jealous thoughts cut themselves off as he reminded himself that Rita was both a lesbian _and_ trying to set the two of them up herself; She was probably just a tactile person when she shrugged off her spiny Lawyer carapace. He couldn’t exactly blame her for wanting to get her hands on him.

 

Barba never seemed upset, no matter how much she poked, prodded and (much to Carisi’s dismay) even pinched. Curiouser and curiouser…

 

~~~

 

He was gonna do it. He had to try it, at least a short test run. Dominick Carisi Sr. did not raise a coward.

 

Carisi timed it perfectly. He chose a day he knew Barba would see Ms. Calhoun, who would inevitably give him a snack or two, and made sure he was around to see what she brought and when he left. It wasn’t stalkerish at all, he made sure he had a reason to be around and… okay yeah, a little creepy, but it was for a good cause! He stalled on delivering the paperwork he had known Lieutenant Benson would ask him to deliver so he would get to Barba’s office around 20 minutes after he would have eaten whatever Rita had taken him. It was still close enough to lunch that he could get away with bringing Barba something without suspicion. To be fair, he’s probably doubled up Barba’s lunches before without even realising it.

 

Rita bought a subway sandwich of some kind, so, on his way to Barba’s office, Carisi stopped by Barba’s favourite burrito van, picking up a couple of chicken quesadillas as well as two burritos almost the size of his forearm. He would eat one if need be, but part of him really hoped Barba would take the hint and grab it himself. He had to stop for a few calming breaths before entering the building.

 

 

 

~~~

 

Carisi stopped by Carmen’s desk this time around; his encounter with Rita was eye-opening, but he needed space and she was kind of terrifying. She confirmed that he was alone and winked as he turned to open the door. He didn’t knock, but he was pretty sure Barba wouldn’t mind.

 

‘Hey, Councillor, you had lunch yet? Lieu asked me to bring over some paperwork, we can halve it, and I thought you might need something.’

‘What did you bring?’

‘Ahh well I didn’t get ‘round to looking at the folder so who knows, but I stopped at that truck you like, got a couple of quesadillas and burritos.’

‘...Alright, sit down.’

 

Carisi took the seat opposite Barba, dropped the file in between them and started unpacking their lunch. Or, really, Barba’s lunch. Barba’s _second_ lunch. His eyes flicked to Barba’s chest and his heart sank slightly when he realised he was fully clothed. A tight waistcoat would be welcome, but his body was shadowed by his jacket, as well as the edge of his desk.

 

‘Jeez, it’s real cold in here. Mind if I turn the thermostat up?’ Barba looked right up at Carisi, almost as if he knew he was nervous. Undercover training was a waste of taxpayer money.

 

‘Sure, I was going to anyway.’ And was the accompanying look something significant?

 

He twisted the knob a few degrees higher than would be comfortable and hoped it’d be enough to convince the lovely ADA to shed some layers. Maybe Carisi could use the heat as an excuse to strip and show off his own figure while they’re at it. He’d feel like a creep if not for Rita’s insistence; Man, if this worked out he’d probably have to thank her. He turned to find Barba already biting into one of the burritos and felt a soft smile dust his lips. Typical. His heart fluttered when he noticed the sauce already dripping down his chin.

 

 

He had to know. It was now or never.

 

 

‘Wow, you didn’t waste any time. Must be hungry, huh?’

 

Barba paused mid-chew, caught in the act, but then just swallowed and said, ‘Mmm, something like that.’ He subtly shifted his chair and Carisi had an inkling he was trying to hide a waste paper basket full of wrappers. Or draw attention to it.

 

‘I would’ve thought Rita’d bring you somethin’, doesn’t she usually on court days?’

 

Barba made to respond, paused, narrowed his eyes and instead asked, ‘If you thought I had already eaten why did you bring me lunch?’

 

Carisi froze, but only for a second.

 

‘Only just remembered. Long day, y’know? Did she? Bring you lunch, I mean. We can, uh, save this for later?’

 

Barba grunted non-committally, eyes already back on his paperwork as he continued to devour his burrito. And then a quesadilla. And then the other quesadilla. Somewhen in there, he couldn’t tell you exactly, Barba had paused to remove his jacket. Carisi, shifting in his seat, managed to position the file he was holding so it’d (hopefully) look like he was reading it and not oogling the tightening fabric of Barba’s suit. He took a bite or two out of his own burrito for cover.

 

He was finished quicker than Carisi thought possible. Barba’s stomach gurgled loudly, protesting it’s fullness, but Carisi wasn’t done.

 

‘Still hungry, Councillor? Here, have mine. I had some snacks at the precinct and a quesadilla before I got here, I can’t finish it.’ It sounded like the lie it was, but if Barba caught it, he decided not to say anything. Instead, he caught Carisi’s gaze, popped open the buttons of his waistcoat with practised ease, and shrugged it off.

 

‘Well, I’d hate for it to go to waste,’ he replied, pulling the rest of the burrito towards himself.

 

_I’d drop onto my knees in an instant if he told me to. Right here in his office._

 

Minutes layer, Barba leaned back, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sighed, content. Carisi, on the other hand, hadn’t gotten a single thing done since Barba’s first bite of that first burrito; He knew Barba could eat, but he was impressed nonetheless.

 

The man looked stuffed tight, like there was no way it was comfortable, and Carisi watched him jam a thumb into his belt in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. That was probably why he was so shocked when, maybe five minutes later, he caught Barba’s hand sneaking into the desk drawer he knew for a fact was full of snacks, rummaging around and pulling out with a snickers bar between his fingers. His pulse raced at the sight and in trepidation, and he decided he had to push further. Just a little.

 

_Don't scare him off._

 

‘No way you’re still hungry, Councillor,’ he managed, eyes averted, gulping before continuing, ‘It, uh, looks like Ms Calhoun might have been right...’ Barba narrowed his eyes.

 

‘And what did Rita say to you, exactly?’

 

‘You know, Barba, it was actually you she was talking to. Your, uh, office door could be thicker...’

 

 _So could you,_ _come to think of it.  
_

 

Barba tapped his fingertips against the table. _‘_ She said a lot, be more specific.’

 

Carisi dragged his eyes over Barba’s upper body.

‘Just, you might need a few new shirts. Those buttons don’t look too happy.’

 

To his astonishment, Barba said nothing. No snap or cruel remark, no admonishment at all. Instead, he looked down at himself, pushed a finger through one of the gaps between his buttons and visibly shivered. It was a real shame he was wearing an undershirt.

 

‘Another example of your fine detective work,’ he idled, dripping with sarcasm, ‘I’d hate to lose a button in open court. Against anyone that isn’t Rita, naturally.’ He huffed a small laugh, ‘She’d be too busy poking fun to take real advantage, she'd kill my dignity over my cases any day. Still want to be a lawyer, Carisi?’ As he spoke, he fiddled with the diamond gaps, almost like he was testing the strength.

 

Now it was Carisi’s turn to shiver. Their eyes met, dark, hungry and questioning.

 

‘I—‘ he started, but he didn’t get to finish because that was the moment his phone started to ring. Barba checked his watch. ‘You should probably get back to work, Detective.’

 

As Carisi rushed out to take the call he thought he heard a soft _‘thanks for lunch’_.

 

~~~

 

Carisi slammed back against his apartment door, a hand already making it’s way down his pants, desperate to reach his dick. He heaved out a harsh breath.

 

 _God,_ _why_ _does_ _Barba have this much control over_ _me_ _?_

 

If he had been just a little less disciplined, a little less Catholic, he would have either wanked in the bathroom of Barba’s own building or shot in his boxers like a teenager. As it was, he had kept it together for a good couple of hours, but it wasn't easy. He wasn’t going to make it any further, he knew, so he locked the door, threw his jacket in the general direction of the coat pegs and shoved his boxers down. The end of his cock was already slick with pre-cum and he was consumed by a radiating ache, so he didn’t bother with pretence. He had waited half a workday for this, was now so close he thought he might faint. He spat into his palm, grabbed his dick and jerked himself hard and fast.

 

 

Images of Barba flipped through his head, some real and some pure fantasy, and he spent a moment with each in turn.

 _Barba’s shallow breathing after a supposedly-shared meal._ _Barba_ _pinning hi_ _m_ _against the door with his_ _whole_ _weight._

   Somewhere in the distance he could hear himself whining and pressed a hand over his mouth and nose to stifle the pathetic little noises.

_Barba straining shirt buttons and the seams around his thick thighs._

       He probably looked a mess, his shirt clinging to his sweat-drenched torso, but he couldn’t slow his brain down long enough to do anything about it.

 _A handful of Barba’s fat_ _and a mouthful of Barba’s cock_ _as his head is crushed between those thighs._

 

 

His orgasm hit him like freight train. Almost as an afterthought he managed to aim away from his trousers, his cum instead streaking across his hardwood floor and dripping down his fingers. Abstract art. He giggled, endorphins high, and slumped down like he was unravelling.

 

_If Barba was here I think he’d tell me to lick that up._

 

If he had a free hand he might have yanked at his own hair the way he imagined Barba would.

 

_He would press my face right against the wood, tell me to be a good boy and clean up my mess._

 

His dick twitched at the thought and he admonished himself like he was a young catholic schoolboy all over again. With nowhere to hygienically wipe off his hand he settled for licking the few errant drips of cum off his fingers, imagining they belonged to someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is going to be next to no spanish in this fic because all I know is the spanish-spanish I learned when I was in year 9 (if you ever need to know the alphabet song hit me up), but I heard someone call their partner gordito once and is it not the most adorable thing I could have picked for this?


End file.
